


And the walls are tumbling down

by abscission



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission
Summary: A strip of purple moves behind the adjacent shelf, accompanied by the pattering of feet. Something gold flashes past his eyes, and without really seeing what he's aiming at, Matoba takes two steps, pivots around the corner, and flings the knife out, paper seal attached.





	1. collision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cekirdek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cekirdek/gifts).



> An AU where Natsume Takashi isn't living with the Fujiwara.
> 
> An AU where Matoba is 22 and Natsume 17, and meets under different circumstances. Very different.
> 
> Thank you very much to those who I bombarded w this!! I'll credit you guys.

"You," says the exorcist, jabbing a finger at a floating clod of hair with a single eye, "lead Matoba-sama to _that place_."

To Matoba's surprise, the shiki freezes. Then it howls, warbling and ear-piercing. Its single, protruding eye scrunches up and it convulses, letting out a scream, "No-no-no  _no_ master, don't make me, I can't—, _please_ , please—have mercy—"

"Urgh," the exorcist waves a hand to dismiss the shiki, red-faced with embarrassment. "I apologize for its behavior, Matoba-sama."

Hurriedly, the exorcist summons a paper shiki, whispering to it a set of directions. Then turning to the clan head, the exorcist bows low.

"The shiki will lead you," he says, not daring to look up.

*

Used to the paper shiki's oozing, unsteady walk, Matoba follows it at a sedate pace.

They're heading deep into the mansion's unused hallways, and idly, Matoba wonders what the elders could be hiding from him (for so long too; perhaps he should re-instate that law about clan head having absolute authority, see what those old men can hide from him then) that it needs to be tucked so far in somewhere neither human nor ayakashi would go.

Eventually, the paper shiki slides open a door in a wall and — they're in the forest behind the mansion, walking down a faded, winding path.

Glancing over his shoulder, Matoba frowns to see thick, maze-like woods all around. The only exit from this puzzling clearing of trees is the door that leads into the mansion.

The elders may be stuffy and set in their ways, but count on them to build up surprise when he least expects it.

Matoba feels a smirk curling his lips as a warehouse emerges from the woods; the winding path leads to its door.

The paper shiki stops beside door of the warehouse. A solid piece of heavy iron, the door stands like a bulwark between the warehouse and the outside world.

There isn't a lock.

As Matoba watches in interest — the elders didn't hand him any sort of key — the paper shiki presses a pulsing shadowy hand onto the metal's flat surface, and a seal shines into existence.

The paper shiki's body melts into the seal, spiritual energy absorbed to unlock the door.

Interesting. Is it keyed to ayakashi, or the owner of the ayakashi?

Regardless, the seal fades, paper flutters to the ground, and the vault-like door unseals itself silently, slowly opening.

Matoba finds himself holding his breath, and makes the conscious decision to exhale.

It is pitch black behind the door.

A sideways glance upwards tells him the warehouse doesn't have any windows at the front.

Stepping inside, the door — barely opened enough for someone of his physique to pass through — shuts again.

It seals off all light.

Patiently, Matoba doesn't move from where he stands, waiting.

After a while his eyes adjust, and he is pleasantly surprised to see that there is a source of light. Very faint, it's nowhere enough to see by, but enough to indicate where he should go: up the set of stairs, to the right.

His footsteps don't exactly ring, but they come close.

He emerges into an attic of bookshelves and cushions, a single skylight letting in a stream of shining sunlight. Dust motes dance in the air. Ward seals litter the corners.

Matoba lets out a disappointed huff.

This? This little attic of books is what the elders hid from him for five long years as clan head?

Hmpf.

He goes up to the closest bookshelf, picking a book at random.

_The Simplified Tales of Genji, Volume I, Part I_

He flips through it, irritated. For every two pages, there's a picture.

The next book he puts his hand on is an outdated map of Japan, of a completely different region than the one they're in.

"Is this a joke?" He demands of the empty, dusty attic.

The book after that is a high school mathematics textbook, dog-eared and filled with scribbles of—

Bird yokai.

At that moment, something shuffles behind him.

He whirls around, knife in one hand and a containment paper seal in the other, textbook dropped and forgotten.

"Who's there?" His gaze combs the bookshelves.

The sound of fabric and a muffled exclamation answers his query. Discarding his clogs, Matoba slips silently across the attic, dance-like.

A strip of purple moves behind the adjacent shelf, accompanied by the pattering of feet. Something gold flashes past his eyes, and without really seeing what he's aiming at, Matoba take two steps, pivots around corner, and flings the knife out, paper seal attached.

There's a yelp, a cascade of fabric, and Matoba stands rooted to the spot, stunned.

Swathes of yellow hair and folds of purple cloth greets him. He's hit something, alright.

Golden eyes peer at him through long, messy bangs, and slim fingers work the knife out of where it's embedded itself through layers of fabric into a shelf.

The boy in a purple kimono blinks up at Matoba.

He presents the knife, handle first.

"Hello," he says, voice light, soft, curious, eyes slanted away and downwards. Submissive. Obedient. Is this boy an ayakashi? "I'm Natsume Takashi. I'm very sorry for scaring you, and that Grandfather made you bring me food. You can just leave the tray at the stairs next time – there's no need to stay."

He stands up then, pushing the knife back into Matoba's limp hands, wrapping fingers around the hilt to create a grip.

His hands are warm, and the skin on Matoba's hands tingle.

A human boy, then.

What?

 


	2. revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...definitely too long to be a one-shot.
> 
> All canon assumptions of Natsume's spiritual power holds true here.

It takes effort not to splutter when Matoba realizes what the boy said.

"Grandfather?" he echoes. "What did you say your name was, again?"

The boy furrows his brows and gathers his kimono, arranging them to drape over his form in a slightly less haphazard fashion. This allows Matoba to catch a glimpse of the designs on the fabric, and it takes his breath away to see containment seals, everywhere.

A mere glimpse shows him ones that cuts off sight, ones that dampen sensitivity, ones that encourages ignorance.

"Natsume Takashi," says the boy, now standing straight. He raises a thin hand to brush strands of hair out of his eyes and looks at Matoba curiously. "You can go now, you know."

Matoba isn't listening. He's gone to peer around book shelves—in the process discovering a hammock bed, several beanbags, and a stool—to find those seals he'd caught sight of earlier.

Matoba straightens, lips pursed. The seals guard the Cardinal Entrances, fence the Eight Corners, and keeps the Four Temperances checked tight. Whoever placed these seals might not have been neat, but was certainly thorough.

He looks over his shoulder at the boy, who's picking up the textbook, dusting it off, and placing it back on the shelf with a misplaced gentleness.

Such seals would've rendered an atmosphere heavier than any normal ayakashi can stand. Even for some exorcists the oppressive air such combinations of seals create would've been too much.

Yet the boy... Even with such seals sown into the very fabric he's wearing...

He's standing in the light of the skylight now, humming tunelessly. When he notices Matoba looking, he smiles. "Those paper slips have been there since I came here. Do you like them? There's a whole section on the rules of drawing them over there."

He points, but Matoba doesn't move.

"Are you a yōkai, Natsume-kun?" he asks, never one for beating around the bush.

Natsume tilts his head, causing a waterfall of hair.

"Yōkai?" he repeats, mystified. "What's that?"

"These." Matoba takes down the textbook, flips open to a page particularly full of sketches, and shows Natsume.

"Oh," Natsume peers at the drawings, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Them? They're my friends. I haven't seen them since my last fitting though; Grandfather sent word that they've left. I wouldn't mind being one of them."

With a long, longing look towards the skylight, Natsume gives his head a small shake. Golden hair shimmer like rivulets of light. Matoba blinks.

"These aren't yōkai, surely. They aren't monstrous, they bring me gifts and feathers—I still keep them, but don't tell Grandfather."

Bird yōkai bringing gifts? Matoba closes the book. He's never heard of such things.

"'Fitting'—for the kimono you're wearing?" Matoba indicates the purple fabric.

Natsume laughs in delight, a peal of tinkling bells that doesn't belong in a darkened, isolated warehouse. He does a small spin. "Pretty, isn't it? It's for my birthday!"

The fabric brushes Matoba's clothing. He doesn't smile, lips pressing into a thin line. Natsume's misplaced joy puts the taste of ash in his mouth.

"Who's your Grandfather?" he asks.

"You don't know him?" Natsume hops to a stop, taking a step closer. "Didn't he send you?"

"Send me to what?"

"To deliver my meals, of course," Natsume leans around Matoba on one foot, peering towards the stairs. "And everything else." The boy straightens, not having a line of sight. He tilts his head again, like a bird. "No?"

The elders sent him. Why? To remind him of his position? To say: 'see, it could've been much worse'?

Matoba crosses his arms to make sure he doesn't do something he'll regret and keeps his expression carefully neutral. "Tell me about your Grandfather."

The boy's smile is suddenly dimmed. "Grandfather... I haven't seen him in a long time. He brought me here, away from my horrible relatives. To be honest, I don't know much about him. I wanted to!" He adds, hurriedly, hands now wringing his clothing, rumpling the fabric. "But I didn't want to be a bother. He made the monsters go away like he promised, and gave me this place, so I'm very grateful. I just wish..."

He shakes his head violently, looking down. His voice is quiet, when he next speaks. "But you're here, so maybe..."

"Me?" Matoba almost takes a step backwards.

"No one stays when they visit, mister. No one talks to me like you did."

He has a sinking feeling.

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh, a while." Natsume picks up a lock of hair, then smiles sheepishly. "A long while?"

"Do you like it here? You mentioned monsters?"

"I do!" Natsume nods fervently, spreading his hands for emphasis. The action stirs up another spray of dust, the rays streaming through the skylight illuminating both him and the dancing motes. "There's even a window here, not like last time! The monsters don't come in here, either. No one comes in here, really."

The boy is quiet for a second, looking up. "I have the books, though, that's enough."

There's something ugly uncoiling in Matoba's gut. The more he stares at the boy gazing pensively out the skylight, the more his vision is overlaid with another scene. He blinks rapidly.

"I—" he starts to say. The boy's bright golden eyes meets his, and Matoba Seiji suddenly feels faint. "I should—"

"Go?" Natsume cuts in hurriedly. "Oh, please, can't you stay longer?" He makes a truncated lurching movement towards Matoba, then curls in on himself. "I'm not a very good host, I'm so sorry, all we did was stand and talk, the books said a host should serve tea and I don't—"

Stiffly, Matoba turns to leave.

"You're welcomed to—" Natsume's call is abruptly cut off when Matoba passes the attic floor. A glance reveals the numerous silencing barrier charms stuck to the ceiling underneath the attic.

Feeling sick now, Matoba starts to hurry.

There's nothing on the lower floor, and the door is an easily-identified block of darkness. Reaching it, Matoba presses a palm against the cool metal, taking a second.

Then he realizes he doesn't know how to get out. There's no handle.

He's not sure what the elders meant, throwing him into this blind, but it's not amusing.

He turns to lean against the door. The false darkness of the warehouse does not help with his imagination, and with the walls cracked and dams leaking from the encounter upstairs, unwanted memories of his own childhood comes flooding back.

Fingers curl into a fist and he slams it against the door. He's placed that behind him. He's risen above those old men that used to dictate his life, he's the one in control now.

Why? Why must they always remind him? He knows, goddammit.

Something whispers across the floor, and something soft grasps his arm, searching for his hand.

"You'll need this," says Natsume from the within the dark, so close that Matoba can feel his breath. Golden eyes, blinking blindly, emerge from the shadows as Matoba's sight adjusts itself.

Fingers press a slip of paper into his hand, and draws away.

Fabric shifts, and the boy's presence moves away.

Wait.

"You can leave?" Matoba breathes, incredulous, "Why don't you?"

The reply is soft, wavering, frightened, and comes from far away. "There are monsters out there I can't see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation: yōkai translates to 'ghosts/monsters/ghostly apparitions' so when Natsume says he doesn't think his 'bird' friends are yōkai 'cos they aren't 'monstrous' he's drawing on that explanation of 'yōkai'. If Matoba had shown him a drawing of the paper shiki/shiki servants, it would've been a different story.


End file.
